The weather had changed, winter's first bite lingering in the air, brittle and crisp. Cauthrien stood upon the practice field, breathing in deep the coolness. Her skin bristled – anxious - beneath the mass of chainmail. The battle had raged for ten minutes. Blows exchanged, sweeps dodged, it seemed an even match of skill. The man that stood opposite her, the challenger, growled and sprung into the low crouch.

Two combatants measuring up the competition; the pair walked slowly in circle. A taunting smile tugged at her mouth. "How do you think it will feel to lose to a woman?" Her words meant to spur the man on.

Her opponent roiled – anger contorting already pudgy and pock marked features. She knew it would be but seconds and he would attack. She recognized the look well. The nervous twitch of his hands as they wrapped tight about the hilt of the sword, the quiver of his lips in snarl, the vehement hatred that shone through his eyes; all betrayed him. He would act compulsively rather than tactically, a rookie mistake.

The sword came at her quickly, aimed at her chest in an attempt to unbalance. Instinct twirled her about her attacker, the edge of an arm scuffed by the incoming joust. She raised her foot and pushed it into the man's backside, driving him forward. His knees rammed into the ground. Desperate hands reached forward to catch him, falling short of their quest as his chest collided with the ground in thud.

She circled about his front, feet inches from his face. One foot rose to press down into the man's back while the tip of the other boot slid effortlessly beneath his chin, lifting it. She intended to have him look at her. "Do you yield," she asked.

Defeated, the man nodded once. He was done.

"Next time you feel like insulting a soldier simply because they are a woman I want you to remember this fight and this loss." She drug her foot back viciously; a rise in the iron of her boot caught upon his skin, leaving a jagged cut in its wake. "That is just in case you chose to forget."

An impassive expression drew tightly across her face as she walked away from her defeated foe, leaving him to heal his wounds and bruised ego. She tossed her great sword to the side into the hands of an awaiting attendant. No instructions were given. They were simply understood. Clean, polish, sharpen. It was the same every time.

Her gaze drifted up to the balcony overlooking the practice field. The steely resolve of a warrior at battle sunk and twisted as her stomach bubbled anxious. Loghain. Blue met with brown. He stared down at her, the meaning of the gaze indecipherable.

Four years had passed since she rode into Denerim on the back of the Hero of the River Dane's horse. Why he had chosen to rescue her from the pedestrian life of a farmer's daughter, she was never quite sure. She had found him at times, staring at her as if he was seeing an image from the past – some memory he did not care to share.

He offered her a post in his legion, Maric's shield. She would train to be a soldier – his soldier though he did not exactly use those very words. But in her mind, that is what she heard: his soldier. The imagination of an awe struck child had run rampant.

She trained, learned, grew from a girl to a woman. Untamed enthusiasm was molded into the disciplined fortitude and skill of a warrior. Her rise through the ranks was quick. Ser Cauthrien she became.

~*~

A dip of the head in nod – recognition – and Loghain disappeared back into the room beyond the balcony. Pride washed brilliant over Cauthrien. He approved. The smile remained on her lips as she made her way back into the Fort. It persisted as she walked down the hallway to her barracks. And it did not fade as she was stopped and told Teyrn Loghain wished to see her.

~*~

A stony mask worn – feelings shoved down and hidden beneath the stoic. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, a schoolgirl crush that had yet to be extinguished. He had been her savior, her rescuer from a life of the mundane. Hope, the promise of greater things, purpose, he had given her all these things. And now, he had given her one more, importance.

Lieutenant, my second...

The words floated as if in dream. To stand at his side, his second in command, an honor. She had risen. Control commanded, her nerves silenced with a quick swallow. "I would be honored, your grace."

Icy blue eyes, the sky on a cold winter's day, raked inspective over Cauthrien. It was if he could see through her - everything transparent, no secrets withheld. She knew herself as a warrior, a woman. But under his gaze, she felt every bit the little girl upon the farm seeing her knight in shining armor for the first time. A quiver threatened to travel up her spine, more wanton than fearful.

"Good girl," he murmured before turning away from Cauthrien in a dismissal. While she could not be sure, she had hoped what she saw play upon his lips before he turned away was the slightest of smiles kissed with pride.